Dona Irene (continued)

[MuscleWomanBR]

The next second he could feel the fighter's shoulder on his chest, her two hands pulling his right hand with an insurmountable force, his feet coming off the floor with her muscular thigh between his, simultaneously lifting him and destabilizing him. For no more than a second, Marcos found himself floating across the room, in a tiny moment of softness, before he felt the thud on the mattress of the double bed. The impact was so strong that the furniture gave way with a loud bang. But there was no time to notice any of this. Dona Irene had already thrown herself at him and was already wrapping him in a powerful armlock, which Marcos did nothing to avoid. She noticed.
- Resist!
Marcos gave her a pleading look and stammered:
- Please, fuck me...
The ex-fighter's eyes, however, were startled by the fury etched on the athletic widow's face. Once again, there were only a few seconds between this scene and the next, when she let go of the prisoner's body, jumped off the broken bed and, with enormous strength, grabbed Marcos' ankles:
- I decide!
Unable to imagine what she would do next, he could only whine, preemptively:
- Please, no...
During those seconds, the mature jiu-jitsu fighter was catching his breath and gaining leverage to repeat there what she had tried to do with Guto, at Marcos' own gym. She looked at the door and then at Sandra's boyfriend, still holding her ankles with herculean strength. In that fraction of time he understood, in panic, what was going to happen. There was no time to prepare himself. Once again the man found himself floating, now with his ankles held by two hands that looked like steel handcuffs pulled by a powerful motor. His head grazed the corner of the nightstand – which opened a small cut on the top of his skull – before his body was thrown against the door. The impact was softened by the remarkable musculature of his shoulders. This did not mean that there was no pain or injury. His right shoulder hurt terribly. At that moment, Marcos was sure that Mrs. Irene would kill him.

[MuscleWomanBR]

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[MuscleWomanBR]

"Stand up," she ordered, as she realigned her kimono and the brown belt around her waist.

With his face contorted by the pain in his shoulder – which he stroked with his hand, looking for a fracture or dislocation –, and with a trickle of blood running down his forehead, he stood up with great difficulty: the impact had also left him dizzy. Then he stammered once more:

"Please, stop..."

She approached. He shrank back, leaning against the door. She moved closer, until her face was almost touching his.

"This isn't even half of what my father did to me. You're too weak, Marcos," and, pulling him by the chin, she savagely kissed the former champion, invading his mouth with a voracious tongue.

Then she gently pushed him aside and faced the closed door.

– While he was beating me, no one was able to break down that door, help me, save me... And my mother, outside, hearing everything... She did nothing... And I wanted to scream: "Help me! Get me out of here! I can't take it anymore! Dad, please, Dad... I love you, Dad... Don't hit me anymore, Dad, please...".
A discreet tear ran down her face, which she wiped away with the sleeve of her kimono, and then took a deep breath, in a posture of concentration, as if preparing for combat. Marcos curled up even more, trembling and protecting his bloody head with his arms. But the woman remained in front of the door, less than half a meter away from it. And she stayed that way for a long minute.
– I don't need anyone to open doors for me. I don't even need a key.
Dona Irene threw a very strong punch against the wood of the door. A scream of pain was muffled by her clenched teeth. Her hand had opened a hole. Her knuckles were bleeding. Another punch made the breach worse and the bleeding worse. Once again she grunted in pain, her face contorted, her mouth closed and her breathing labored. The third punch opened a passageway large enough for her to pass through. The following punches, until seven were complete, left only the edge of what had been a door until a few minutes ago. Splinters of wood were scattered on both sides, especially in the hallway. With the same strength and violence she grabbed and tore off what was left of the door, until there was nothing left of it. The floor was covered in scraps of wood.

Marcos watched the scene in absolute amazement. So much so that his erection returned with full force. In a quick sequence, Dona Irene went to the dresser, opened the drawer, took out the tube of intimate lubricant, pulled down her kimono pants and men's underwear (since she had started bodybuilding, she had never worn underwear again), generously lubricated her anus, grabbed Marcos by the neck and threw him onto the mattress of the broken bed. Still wearing the top of the kimono and the brown belt around her waist, she crouched over the ex-fighter's swollen penis.

[MuscleWomanBR]

– Sumo time – she said, smiling, as she held Marcos' member, guiding it to her smeared anal orifice.
As she let herself be penetrated, Mrs. Irene let out a sensual moan, along with the man who looked at her with a mixture of desire and admiration.
– I'm going to teach you how to fuck an ass.
She spread both hands on Marcos' athletic chest, tilting her body and facilitating the penetration of the penis into her rectal canal.
– You don't even need to see my muscles, Marcos. I'm going to show you that I'm strong where I want it.
Then she began the movement of contracting and relaxing her anal sphincter, without moving any other part of her body, always looking at the eyes of her prisoner, whose skin was covered in goosebumps. A wave of pleasure ran through her body from end to end. He had never experienced anything like it. With her fingers injured by the blows that had broken the door, she began to gently pinch Marcos' nipples. He looked at those still bleeding wounds and then at the door destroyed by the hands of the woman who was now slowly jumping on an erection that the former fighter had never had.
Except for the exuberant muscles of her legs, the rest of the unbeatable fighter's musculature was hidden: under the kimono jacket she was wearing a white cotton T-shirt with a collar that went all the way to the base of her neck. The sleeves covered her arms up to the wrist. Dona Irene's strong biceps and ripped abdomen, which excited Marcos so much, were hidden under the looseness of the jacket. At that moment, what was keeping his erection, besides the woman's exciting movements combined with the contraction of her sphincter, were the wounds on her fingers: knowing that those wounds were the result of the punches that destroyed the door was as exciting, if not more exciting, than the muscles sculpted by the widow alone. He looked back at the door destroyed by her fists. It was then that he realized: he was being led to another kind of excitement. Perhaps more sophisticated. That destruction excited him because it was the "work" of that woman's physical strength, which pushed her muscles to the limit. Dona Irene did not even fear the sharp pain that the resistance of that wood caused her. He looked once more at her wounds and felt the harbinger of orgasm. His eyes met those of his captor, who smiled at him maliciously, confirming everything he had just concluded. And, as he ejaculated profusely, he moaned:
– I love you, Irene...
– Good boy.

[Dona Fell Friz]

Thanks always.

[MuscleWomanBR]

André loved a very peculiar habit of Kelly's: as soon as she entered his room and closed the door at Dona Isolina's house, she would take off her shoes and pull off her pants or shorts, keeping her T-shirt on. That way, he could see her thick, strong legs showing off their muscular exuberance. But that wasn't the only thing that excited him so much. With an unpretentious manner, she would walk around the room, tidying up the mess where the boy kept his things. This made her squat, stand up and walk from one end of the room to the other, in a parade where he could glimpse the beginning of his beloved's buttocks, covered up to the upper half by the T-shirt. Then he could see the "V" point of the lingerie she was wearing. André demanded that she wear a unique model and color: they had to be invariably white, 100% cotton and high-waisted – similar to the thongs worn by beach volleyball players – with the bow covering half of each buttock. And they could not wear any adornment or lace.
One of André's erotic touches was to run his finger along the edges of the arches of that kind of women's swim trunks – which went from the waist to the thighs, exposing the folds of her buttocks – while she was face down on the bed, losing herself in the distracting screen of her cell phone. Whenever he started to do this, Kelly would put the phone down and look at her boyfriend mischievously: the former weightlifting and karate champion knew exactly what he wanted. Soon he would be lifted up with his back against the wall, with his thighs on her powerful and broad shoulders, and his penis would be swallowed by his girlfriend's skillful mouth. He also demanded that she sleep wearing a T-shirt and swim trunks just so he could see her get up in the morning, after waking him up with avid fellatio – which included long and delicious licks on his scrotum.
While she swallowed her boyfriend's thick sperm, smiling, Kelly stood up on the bed, with André's thin torso between her feet, and said nothing. She looked at him for a few seconds and then got off the bed and headed to the bathroom, offering the boy a view of her enormous, firm buttocks, partially covered, devouring her swimming trunks. Half an hour later she returned, with her teeth brushed and the breakfast tray: in the bathroom she put on a robe so as not to shock her mother-in-law, who at that time would be in the kitchen, grumpy about having breakfast without the usual company of her only son. But, before they returned to the bedroom, Kelly got rid of the robe: she knew about André's fetish.

[MuscleWomanBR]

It wasn't just those few pieces of clothing, however, that aroused, in a perhaps somewhat eccentric way, his uncontrollable desire for Kelly. He was also excited by the determination with which she did all this. While he lazily stretched out on the bed, she took care of everything to start the day, including setting out the clothes her boyfriend would wear. She did everything with an energy and confidence that seemed extremely sexy to him.
- How hot, my love...
Kelly smiled mischievously, as she folded clothes.
- Do you want me to suck you again, Greek god?
- That would be nice... But I'm talking about something else...
- And what are you talking about?
- This shirt of yours... These panties of yours...
- I know you like it, silly.
- But you don't know how horny I feel when I see you doing everything like that.
- Like what?
- Doing all this dressed like that. I like the way you do it, dressed the way that turns me on. She stopped what she was doing, with both arms at her sides and her feet firmly planted on the floor.
- I'll do anything to please you, Greek god. You're the greatest love of my life.
André got up in bed.
- Take off your shirt.
Kelly ripped it off. The surprise and violence of the gesture awakened André's erection, and he smiled at her. The morning light coming through the window illuminated her very white skin and the contours of that apparently plump and stocky body. He knew the strength of those arms, legs and torso, although they were far from the muscular definition of other athletes. Her large breasts did not fall over a flabby and immense belly, but over a smooth and straight torso covered by a layer of fat that hid muscles capable of withstanding heavy karate blows. Her thighs, however, always gave the lie to the "fake fat": they were hard and muscular, supporting protruding buttocks that were no less muscular, which in André's eyes looked irresistibly sexy in that white thong.

[MuscleWomanBR]

– Turn around.
Kelly obeyed, spreading her legs a little wider. He appreciated his girlfriend's broad shoulders, which accentuated her appearance of strength. André caressed that colossus, going down to her buttocks covered by the thong. The boy stood up and hugged her from behind.
– Tell me everything – he whispered in her ear.
The young woman let out a moan.
– Yesterday I surpassed my mark...
– No... Start from the beginning...
As he whispered, André slapped Kelly's buttocks, who moaned in the middle of his speech.
– You... told me... to go back... to weightlifting...
– Why?
– Because... you... want me... stronger...
– How strong?
– Strong enough to lift... a car... by the bumper...
He stuck one hand in his girlfriend's thong and reached for her clitoris. With the other, he pinched her nipples. Kelly's moans got louder, rolling her eyes. – Show me...
She stretched out her arms, closed her hands and slowly evolved into a double biceps pose, which appeared enormous, bigger than last time. André was amazed at how much he had grown in such a short time.
– And those biceps?
– It's... my... surprise... for you...
– What did you do?
– I started... lifting... 35 kilos... on... each arm... in... dumbbell curl exercises...
He caressed the two rigid spheres that filled his hands.
– I don't just want muscle. I want strength.
– I'm going to be... the strongest... woman... in the world... just for you... my Greek god...
– Don't move!
Kelly heard the drawer of the bedside table open. That simple sound made her moan. Seconds later she felt the cold of the lubricating gel flooding the crack that divided her buttocks and André's finger smearing her anus and rectum. These preparations brought her to the brink of orgasm. She placed both hands on the windowsill, looking at the street through the glass, while her boyfriend's large penis advanced in a single thrust, until she felt the shock of the boy's groin against her buttocks, which he slapped.

[MuscleWomanBR]

Now she was not moaning, but growling like a wild animal. The muscles in her back and arms were emerging in a way André had never seen before, showing that she had truly obeyed him: becoming an increasingly stronger woman. Appreciating that compact mountain of muscles, the young man felt an unprecedented rigidity in his member. And he let himself be invaded by a deep love for her.
At almost two meters tall, André bent over Kelly, bringing his head close to hers and pressing the nipples of her ample breasts.
"I love you, Kelly."
The answer was an animalistic roar, as if she had transformed into a tigress. The weightlifter reached for her clitoris and masturbated frantically. André, shocked by the irrepressible strength of that stocky body, understood that his role there had become smaller: he was just a long, thick, hard penis in the anus of a young woman completely devoted to her own pleasure, aware that she was achieving that indescribable orgasm because she was able to excite her boyfriend to the exact extent of her desire. Kelly was not getting stronger and stronger, because she was only doing it to please André.
The karateka's orgasm came along with a hoarse and terrible howl. Her boyfriend feared that if he said or did anything, he would be broken or devoured by that goosebumps-streaked body that was shaking convulsively in an orgasmic ecstasy that seemed to have no end. The wooden frame of the old railing where she was holding on was ripped off as she came. At that moment, Kelly was a beast capable of destroying an army. But she calmed down, her breathing returning to normal, her muscles relaxing. André's enormously engorged phallus, however, was still there, throbbing inside his rectum, ready to ejaculate. It was her turn to say:
"Don't move."
She then began to slowly move her torso back and forth, flexing her arms as if she were exercising them, taking control of André's orgasm, while at the same time offering him a view of her powerful muscles in action. The young man understood: in fact, she was the one in control here. When he realized all of this, he was lifted to a new level of pleasure, completely new in his sexual life. The impression he had was that the ejaculation was coming from his brain, flooding his entire body until it exploded on the penis masturbated by Kelly's rectum. André's orgasmic moan sounded like a lament for the culmination of an overwhelming pleasure – which he wished would last forever, but which he could no longer postpone. She had decided that her boyfriend would cum now.
Kelly looked back and smiled at her man:
"I love you, my Greek god."

[MuscleWomanBR]

With tears of joy and tenderness, the thin young man, almost two meters tall, collapsed on Kelly's colossal back, who remained bent over in front of the window, holding on to the sill, with her feet firmly planted on the floor, supporting André's weight, who still had his penis in his girlfriend's rectum. The karateka and weightlifter loved staying in that position, knowing that she had the physical strength to support her for a long time, while her boyfriend was still breathing deeply, hugging her thick and vigorous torso, both with their heads close together – he still under the effect of what had perhaps been his most intense orgasm to date. Kelly looked at the banal and arid street. Placid, she felt like the happiest woman in the world.
"I love you, my Greek god," she repeated, with touching sweetness.
André smiled. She shook her hips, moved forward a little and bent her knees, slowly expelling her boyfriend's almost flaccid penis. A warm, viscous trickle of sperm ran down the inside of her thighs. This sensation was one of the ones that gave her the most pleasure – and it also made her love her skinny giant even more. He noticed his girlfriend's movement and stood up, causing her to moan softly. The girl turned to him and, on tiptoe, reached his shoulders. He bent his neck and they both lost themselves in a passionate, long and delicious kiss.
- Honey... I have another surprise for you...
André smiled, his heart racing, feeling a new erection announce itself in the face of the possibilities he imagined. After all, he wanted his girl even stronger.
- I'm doing... jiu-jitsu...
Kelly said this with the sensuality of a woman revealing the sexy lingerie she saved to surprise her husband.
- Oh, my love...
André was interrupted by a cry, moved by his girlfriend's surrender to his fantasies. She smiled, equally moved.
- I do this for both of us.
- I had no idea. I had no idea.
– It's been almost a year.
– So it was right after...
– Yes, right after... I left that gym.
– So you're not doing karate anymore?
A shadow of sadness passed through the girl's eyes. She remembered the beating that Mrs. Irene had given her.
– I decided to take a break from karate... But I'm doing really well in jiu-jitsu! And in weightlifting, of course...
– My dick is getting hard again...
– I know... Why do you think I'm telling you all this?

André hugged his girlfriend's naked body. She grabbed him by the hips, lifted him up and gently placed him on the bed.
– It'll take me about six years to get my black belt in jiu-jitsu. But I'll get there, my Greek god.
That's when they heard repeated bangs from the semi-detached house next door. Mrs. Irene's house.
– What's that? – Kelly asked.
– I don't know... It seems like someone is breaking something in that old bitch's house...
– What is that bitch up to, my God?!
– I don't know... She can go fuck herself... I'm lynching myself for what she does or doesn't do. I hope she dies...
The bangs stopped. A little later, Mrs. Isolina knocked on the door.
– André, Kelly, what's going on?
– It's not here, Mom. It's in the house of that bitch of ours who lives next door.
– André, go see what's going on.
– No way, Mom! That old lady can go fuck herself!
– André, the noise was really loud! It could be something serious!
– Call the fire department, Mom, or the police, I don't know.
– André, go over there now and see what's going on!
– Don't worry, I'll go, Mrs. Isolina – said Kelly, already looking for clothes to put on.

[MuscleWomanBR]

– You're not going! – André said with clear fury. – That crazy woman is capable of beating you.

Ever since she was beaten by Mrs. Irene, Kelly avoided going to André's house so as not to run the risk of meeting the widow. When she returned to weightlifting and started jiu-jitsu, however, in addition to counting on André's encouragement and love, she began to recover her self-esteem and courage. She understood that not going to her boyfriend's house would be subjecting herself excessively to the control of the athletic and lonely lady. What harm could she do? Kelly felt cruel and terribly humiliated by that unequal fight, in which she was massacred by the sadistic violence of that woman. Avoiding André's house just for fear of meeting her again would be to diminish her love for him. And, for Kelly, there was no one more important than her boyfriend.

– Your mother asked, my Greek god. I'll go quickly...
- No, she's capable of beating you, like she did to me...
Hearing these words made Kelly furious: she remembered the aggression that Mrs. Irene had inflicted on André and, once again, the terrible beating that the fifty-year-old had given him. The weightlifter, her face red with rage, looked at the boy with her sparkling eyes and shouted:
- I'm coming, Mrs. Isolina!
Intimidated by the unprecedented hatred that appeared on his girlfriend's face, André cowered, trembling that Kelly would beat him up - if he dared to say or do anything.
Still adjusting his sweatshirt on his body, the girl left in a hurry. In less than a minute she was ringing the neighbor's doorbell. Inside the house there was absolute silence. Kelly tried again. Nothing. She rang a third time. A fourth, while knocking on the door. She refused to call Mrs. Irene. A loud and angry scream finally came from inside the house:
- Going to go!!!
When the widow opened the door, it took her a few seconds to understand what was happening. That face was familiar to her...
- What are you doing here, you pig?!
In the first second after seeing the person who had beaten her, Kelly had a brief moment of lucidity. Mrs. Irene's question was justified: what was she doing there, in front of that lady dressed like a jiu-jitsu fighter, shouting with a tense face and teeth bared, as if she were about to bite her? Wouldn't it have been more prudent to listen to her boyfriend and just call the police - or not even that? But it was too late to regret the thoughtless act, driven by the blindness of fury and revenge. Kelly only saw two wounded hands grab her by the sleeves of her sweatshirt, a foot on her chest and a throw that threw her to the floor of the house's living room.
The speed of everything was so dizzying that the girl had difficulty processing what was happening. As she heard the door slam behind her, she felt a tug that dragged her onto the couch, and soon Mrs. Irene was mounted on her torso, punching Kelly in the face, who was protecting her head with her arms.
- I'm going to kill you, you bitch!
Once again, the young woman was being beaten by Mrs. Irene. Finally Kelly decided to fight back, before she was murdered by that woman who was sitting on her torso, yelling while punching her. The girl remembered that she was a black belt karateka – even though she had been defeated by that same woman – and, for the past year, she had been a weightlifter and a beginner in jiu-jitsu. She had a way to avoid the massacre, she concluded.

[MuscleWomanBR]

Obviously, this was thought up in two or three seconds, while Mrs. Irene's ferocity tried to break Kelly's skull with relentless punches. Thanks to her jiu-jitsu training, André's girlfriend was able to use her free legs and her own weight to destabilize the lady, kicking her in the back of the neck. The two fell off the couch, with Kelly on top of her. That was all the young woman needed to try to restrain Mrs. Irene. Once again, however, the girl had underestimated the fifty-year-old.
"You haven't learned your lesson, you disgusting fat woman..." whispered Mrs. Irene.
Much more advanced in jiu-jitsu, the widow easily got away from the beginner and stood up. Without wasting a single second, she grabbed the sleeve and collar of the young woman's sweatshirt, stuck her leg between her legs and applied a formidable uchi mata. The young woman felt an incalculable force tear her feet off the ground and make her float before her back collided with the floor, with a thud that emptied her lungs. Mrs. Irene held one of Kelly's arms, twisting it, while stepping on the weightlifter's neck – who once again resorted to strength. Kelly stood up, pushing the other woman's body, who fell on her back. With as much agility as she could, she jumped to the door, trying to open it, but she felt two very strong hands on her ankle that pulled her back. Kelly fell face down and was dragged to the back of the house. With the first swellings on her face and a split lip, panting and sweating, Mrs. Irene took a deep breath, while pulling the young woman to her feet.
- Get up so you can get it, bitch!
The muscular widow grabbed the girl by the collar and fired countless punches at her face, completely exposed to the relentless blows. Kelly's bloody head, already semi-conscious, was moving back and forth as if she were training in a boxing match. The widow's fingers, injured by the blows on the door, were even more injured.
- Let's wash your face.
Dona Irene dragged the weightlifter to the bathroom, stuck her head in the toilet and flushed. The cold water and the prospect of drowning brought Kelly back to consciousness, and she grabbed the edges of the toilet for leverage. The mature karateka stepped on the back of the girl's neck, keeping her head submerged in the toilet with the clear intention of killing her by humiliating drowning, while she tried to pull one of her victim's arms to apply a headlock. Kelly, however, driven by desperation, used all her weightlifter's strength to stand up, pushing her tormentor with her back until she hit the wall. The impact made Dona Irene exhale all the air she had in her lungs.
This time, it was she who underestimated Kelly. Exhausted by the grueling session she had had with Marcos and the violent fight with the girl, the athletic widow was unable to react with the agility and strength that were typical of her. André's girlfriend, still coughing up the water that had nearly drowned her, noticed this and took advantage of her enemy's moment of weakness, firing a devastating elbow into her ribs. Mrs. Irene screamed in pain, while Kelly pulled the lady's arm forward, threw her waist against her abdomen and threw her onto the toilet. The narrowness of the white-tiled room did not allow for a full throw, and the muscular mature woman hit her legs against the wall in a vertical position, with her feet up. Kelly, grunting at the same time with pain, rage and herculean effort, grabbed the woman's legs, lifted that now defenseless athletic body and buried the widow's head inside the toilet, pressing the flush. With her face swollen and dripping with water and blood, Kelly roared like a beast:
– Die, you whore!!!

[MuscleWomanBR]

Hearing her own voice, the young woman realized the monstrosity she was committing. Then she lifted the widow's inert body, placing her upright against the wall. The woman immediately coughed, expelling water and groaning in pain from her fractured ribs. Kelly supported the woman who, with a staggering gait, managed to walk to the living room, where she was thrown onto the sofa. The fifty-something woman, with her hair and kimono soaked, half-opened her eyes, trying to see the face that her punches had deformed.
- I taught you a good lesson, fatso...
At the sound of the kiai, Kelly fired a lightning seiken jodan zuki that broke Dona Irene's nose.

[MuscleWomanBR]

When Kelly returned to André's room, with her face bruised and her sweatshirt soaked, the boy shouted:
- I'll kill that bitch!!! Mom, call the police!!!
Kelly pulled her boyfriend by the collar, staring at him with a very hard look he didn't know:
- If you call the police, I'll beat you up.
The low tone and the restrained cadence of her speech only accentuated the intimidating severity of the weightlifter. André, dressed in his work uniform, responded with a clear bulge inside his pants: once again Kelly's strength surprised him, revealing itself where he least expected it.
- Honey, at least let's go to a hospital... Your beautiful face is really hurt, my love...
The boy's observation made Kelly remember the pain throbbing in her face. The swelling was already impairing the vision in one of her eyes and she feared that some teeth were loose. The rusty taste in her mouth indicated that some bleeding was still going on. The girl touched her nose and, relieved, realized that it was intact. But her head hurt and her body felt the legacy of the twists, squeezes and throws that the violent and powerful widow had inflicted on her. The young woman agreed to go to the hospital. While calling an Uber, André wanted to know what had happened.
- The woman almost killed me...
- Kelly, my love, let's go to the police... please...
- I already told you I don't want the police!
The young man cringed.
- She almost killed me, but this time I fought back.
- What do you mean, "this time"? Was there another one?
Kelly hesitated between lying and revealing the previous fight.
- She's beaten me up before.
- Oh! I suspected it wasn't a training accident...
- I didn't want to make things worse, my Greek god. It's complicated. I provoked her. She defended herself. And she's very strong and a much better fighter. It was all very, very humiliating. I wanted to forget about it.
- She hurt you a lot, Kelly! You ended up in the hospital! Now she hits you again and you do nothing?
- This time I broke the old lady's nose.
- Tell me everything.
The emergency room treatment took a long time. There was a suspicion of a concussion and Kelly underwent a series of tests. As with the previous time, the doctors decided to hospitalize her as a precaution. André was shocked by his girlfriend's story and seriously considered reporting Mrs. Irene to the police. But the weightlifter, sensing the young man's intentions, reiterated with the same severity her order for him not to involve the police in this episode, reminding him that it was she who, once again, took the initiative. What convinced André was not the argument, but the exciting fear of being overwhelmed by the wrath of that woman whose physical strength he knew – and desired – very well. In fact, having turned the fight around in her favor restored Kelly's confidence in her ability to take revenge on Mrs. Irene – which, deep down, was her only purpose when she knocked on the muscular loner's door. The weightlifter, former karateka and now jiu-jitsu fighter believed that she would have enough patience and discipline to prepare for a third fight, in which she would fully repay the widow for the humiliation she had inflicted on her.

[MuscleWomanBR]

When she burst into the outbuilding, with her nose bleeding and her body soaked, Mrs. Irene was still quite weak. As strong and resilient as she was, the limits of her body were making themselves felt. Almost crawling, she was supported by Marcos as soon as she entered the small improvised gym. He soon recognized her broken nose, an old acquaintance from his days as an MMA champion.
Refusing to go to the emergency room, Mrs. Irene was cared for by her prisoner with the resources he had at his disposal: to put her kidnapper's nose back in place, he simply squeezed it. The widow howled in pain, but apparently her nose had been fixed. She didn't say anything, but Marcos guessed what had happened. That day, he didn't see her again.
Free of the chains and the mask, the former fighter now walked around the house. He was the one who cleaned the debris from the door and fixed the broken bed. As long as he didn't go near the windows, he was allowed to walk around all the rooms. During the first week of Mrs. Irene's recovery, she took care of her injuries and the house. She preferred to rest as much as possible, even avoiding her obsessive weight training. Ten days after the fight against Kelly, she came down from her room wearing her karate kimono and the two black belts around her waist. She felt recovered enough to resume training. It was still very early, the sun had barely risen. Mrs. Irene entered the outbuilding, where Marcos was sleeping on the mattress that served as his bed. The widow stretched, always taking care of her breathing and concentration. She seemed calm. She even smiled tenderly at her captive, who was sleeping in a position that reminded her of a child. The fifty-year-old woman was moved when she remembered the care with which he treated her wounds – including those on her hands – and the bandage that protected her nose. She was excited by the sight of that virile and athletic man dedicating himself to such delicacies. But she said nothing, except the monosyllables telling him what to do – although, at times, she felt like caressing him maternally. That morning, however, she felt ready and independent to take care of herself. The bruises from the fight were disappearing, leaving only her nose, which would need another month to fully recover. She looked at herself in the mirror and laughed at her face, which resembled that of a clown, with a faint redness under her eyes and bandages on her nose. The idea of ​​vulnerability, however, abhorred her. Still shirtless, she observed her strong, protruding trapezius, the rippled muscles of her shoulders, her breasts swallowed up by her pectoral muscles. She flexed her right biceps, which emerged proudly, defined, toned, starting at her armpit and ending in an abrupt curve before the bend of her arm. Dona Irene squeezed it and felt its hardness. It felt like marble. But she feared that it had reduced in size after the days of rest. She thought about getting back to working out immediately, panicking at the possibility of losing the physical strength she had built up until then. Then she looked at where there had been a door in that room. Then she examined the scars on her fingers, remembering the pleasure of feeling the wood give way to the force of her punches. The memory gave her a clitoral erection, but she didn't want to masturbate. She just dressed like a karateka and went down to the outbuilding, where she was now, contemplating Marcos' deep and innocent sleep, huddled under the blanket in a way that made him seem much smaller. She spent long minutes crouched next to that man who snored indifferently to her.

Extremely careful not to wake him, Mrs. Irene grabbed a corner of the blanket and, in a single movement, abruptly tore it off, grabbing Marcos' arm under his armpit and lifting him up, still semi-conscious. Without giving him any chance to defend himself or to understand what was happening, she fired a series of seiken jodan zuki until she broke the kidnapped man's nose, whose body she let fall onto the mattress, bloody and groaning in pain. Dona Irene leaned over and whispered in his ear:
– Thank you.

[MuscleWomanBR]

Nunes was irritated by the insistent ringing of his cell phone. He was on his second set of ten repetitions of the barbell bench press, feeling like a hero, and he feared that there was an emergency at the police station, interrupting the personal record he was going to show off to Sandra. Dripping with sweat, he put down the barbell and picked up the phone. He didn't recognize the number, but decided to answer it anyway. It was Mrs. Irene. He wanted to finally comply with the summons.

Since his last encounter with Marcos' girlfriend, Nunes had thought of nothing else but to repeat it. He would do anything for it. So much so that he intensified his weight training, now at the gym of the missing trainer. He wanted to make himself more attractive to Sandra and, at the same time, see her every day. Mrs. Irene ended up convincing her to prevent or at least postpone the widow's testimony at the police station, as part of the investigation into Guto's beating. However, it was not about protecting the fifty-year-old woman, but about the pleasure of controlling and subduing the desire of the police officer, who managed to delay the summons, in addition to not filing another complaint for physical assault against the widow – which would be humiliating and embarrassing for Nunes: after all, it would be embarrassing to admit that he had been beaten by a woman who was almost 60 years old. When he received her call, therefore, the investigator felt relieved, because continuing with that postponement – ​​which had been dragging on for three months – was illegal, and put his career at risk.
When he rang the doorbell of the house, it was already night. Dona Irene greeted him at the door wearing a dress that showed off her athletic shoulders and muscular calves. The investigator wasted no time:
"Dona Irene, no messing around this time. I won't go any further. Come with me, please."
She smiled, affable and seductive. At first, Nunes looked at her with contempt, almost disgust, when he saw the bandage on the woman's nose. But then he noticed the physique of the fifty-something woman, which for the first time was more naked to him. She pretended to adjust a lock of hair to flex her biceps. The policeman's gaze indicated that Mrs. Irene had caught his attention.
- I'm ready. I just took a shower after weight training...